


A Charm invests a face

by middlemarch



Category: Mercy Street (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, F/M, Fever, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, end of season 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-05
Updated: 2018-05-05
Packaged: 2019-05-02 08:42:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14540970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/middlemarch/pseuds/middlemarch
Summary: She was changed, but not beyond recognition.





	A Charm invests a face

“Oh, Mary, Mary, what have they done to you!” Jed exclaimed. His hand jerked forward, reaching for her, before he could stop himself.

“We had no choice,” Aunt Agnes said, her voice not as unwavering as she might have wished. He heard the fatigue in it, the hours spent in a bedside vigil, how she’d worn it out, praying.

“No choice?” he repeated.

“She was burning up, I’ve never know a body to be so hot and yet live, the doctor said we must. That it was sapping her strength, making her miserable,” Agnes said. How could he fault her? He had let Mary go, he had waited and waited to come to her, allowing so many things to come between them. When Samuel had asked, had nearly ordered him to go to Boston, he’d nearly balked until he asked himself why. What was he afraid of? That she would reject him? That he would not feel the same? That she would be gone was the only possibility to strike dread into his heart. He had climbed aboard the train and wished it to fly, magicked by his desire, by his awareness of what he had risked.

“She let you?” he asked, thinking of the Mary he had known in Virginia, stalwart, impetuous, her soul threaded through with the finest, unbreakable steel. Mary with her lovely chestnut hair in the most elaborate, shining braids, coiled and netted, Mary with her hair loose over her shoulders, spilling across her pillow, tendrils he had brushed back from her face.

“Poor lamb, I hardly think she knew, at first,” Agnes replied. “She was out of her head, crying and crying with what little voice she had left. When she realized we’d cut it off, it was too late,” She trailed off, the discomfort in the memory palpable in the green room.

“What aren’t you telling me?” 

“She was crying for you. Your name, _Jedediah_ , over and over. I thought, how much you must mean to her, how her heart was breaking and would you ever know?” Agnes said. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, then another. He couldn’t allow himself to imagine it beyond what she’d said. It would destroy him.

“She wouldn’t let me send the letter she wrote. The letter she wrote to you,” Agnes added.

“She’s stubborn,” he said, finally getting the nearest expression to a smile from Mary’s aunt.

“Oh, aye, she is and ever ‘twas so. Even as a little girl.”

“She looks so very young,” he said, reaching again, more gently, to stroke Mary’s shorn hair, the silky dark curls that clustered around her face, not grazing her shoulders.

“Until she opens her eyes. Perhaps, now you’re here, p’rhaps that’ll change,” Agnes mused.

“I hope so,” he said in a low voice. Mary, when she woke, would she be glad to see him? It wouldn’t matter, as long as she opened her eyes.

“I suspect we’ll see a change. To get your heart’s desire, when you’ve given up, given it up… Well, it’s remarkably restorative,” Agnes said, nodding sagaciously.

“I’m her heart’s desire?” he said, letting himself touch her pale cheek once, twice. He’d held her face in his two hands once and kissed her, kissed her with everything he was, body and soul, and it was nothing to this moment.

“It’ll mean more when she tells you herself,” Agnes replied. “A word of advice—reassure her you don’t mean to leave. I don’t care if it’s a lie, just tell her you’ll stay.”

“It wouldn’t be a lie, it’s not,” he retorted.

“That’s good to know. She’ll appreciate all that temper and spirit when she wakes up,” Agnes remarked. Mary didn’t have her eyes, but he recognized the expression, that Yankee woman’s critical summation lacking any flattery.

“Have you any other advice?” he said, humbling himself to the woman who’d the greatest part in saving Mary’s life.

“Ah, yes, I might have,” Agnes said, the smile in her tone. “Tell her she’s beautiful, tell her you love her dearly, dearest of all. Tell her nothing’s changed, except that you’re not going to be a fool any longer. Unless you plan to be?” Mary’s aunt said smartly, unexpectedly.

“No, I don’t. I do love her, she is beautiful, and my dearest,” he said. 

“Like that. That’ll suit,” Agnes said dryly. “Took you long enough, didn’t it?”

“Too long,” he said, stroking Mary’s loose curls. She stirred but her lashes didn’t flutter open.

“She’ll forgive you, she’s made that way,” Agnes said. “I won’t again, though, mind.”

“You shouldn’t need to,” he promised.

“There now, she’ll wake in a minute or two and it’ll go easer if I’m not here. I’ll be just across the hall, if you need me,” Agnes said, gesturing to the chair next to Mary’s bed. Jed walked to it and sat down, prepared to wait for Mary. Agnes left the room, closing the door nearly all the way, and there was only the lamp’s pool of gold and the green-dark shadows collecting in the corners of the room.

“Jedediah? You’re—you’re here?” she said, the minute or two passed that her aunt had predicted. Her eyes were confused but so lovely and he saw how even with her hair like a boy’s, nothing could disguise her beauty, the beauty of her soul seeking his.

“Yes, Mary. I’m here, sweetheart, I’ve come for you,” he said swiftly, steadily.

“Truly?” she asked, reaching a trembling hand to touch his face, letting it fall to the bedclothes.

“Truly. Always,” he said, taking her hand from the coverlet and pressing a kiss to it, holding it still when she tired and dropped it, when she sighed with relief and pleasure. 

“I’m glad, so glad you came,” she murmured. He would have cursed himself for what his delays had cost her, except that he knew that would be the greater burden to her.

“Then we are glad together,” he said quietly, seeing the spark of her former, healthier self in her soft dark eyes at his admission and a light that she didn’t try to conceal with glances away. He could not take her into his arms and embrace her as tenderly, ardently as he wished, but he held her hand and her gaze. He understood nothing had been lost that they could not regain and that as ever, he was blessed beyond deserving.

**Author's Note:**

> Upon re-reading my story where Mary does *not* get her hair cut during her fever, I decided, for fun, to write the companion tale, where, lo and behold! she does. And meanwhile, Aunt Agnes gives Jed what-for in the guilt trip department but there's still a happy ending and a title from Emily Dickinson.


End file.
